Eclipse of the Sun

At Nights

I admire the moon at nights.
It was well thought out by universe –
by God.
The moon is shining into the unlucky night,
it illuminates the world.
It is well thought out.
Sun and brightness on day,
only softened light at night,
and a high silvery lamp.
Just as in human habitations,
at the stations, in hospitals.
Yes, the moon is shining, it illuminates the world.

That huge night

What the Moon Has Seen

What all you have already
seen, the moon.
First rains,
wave of fields of lilies,
lament of dinosaurs and faces of my
great grandfathers, too.

You have seen my father,
as he is dying at night.

You have also seen
million of slaughtered Armenians
at the beginning of 20th century.
50 millions from
a world war, too.
You have seen the Babi Yar.
You have also seen a guy in Bosnia who
led the whole families out of a café
and outside he completely cut their throats.

Moon, moon,
will you forget it one day?

You old junk of poets,
you urgently shining
control lamp of humanity.

Postcards of the 20th Century

Where are the postcards
of 20th century going?

For example that of Verdun,
with 700 000 of men
thrust into the earth
for several weeks?

Or that with a Byelorussian girl,
saying to SS men:
"When you don't kill me,
I will sing you
a song."
(She was shot down with others
behind the school.)

Oh, as Dresden, London, Dubrovnik
and all those beautiful cities
are burning at these postcards.
As people are running somewhere,
those endless, hungry,
and harassed crowds.

Where are the postcards
of twentieth century going?
Who will watch them?
Who will read them?

Red Giant

After five billions of years
the Sun is a red giant now.
Its once graceful body
has become swollen and red.
It has swallowed up
the Mercury and Venus a long time ago
and this is also waiting for Earth,
our beloved Earth,
which is rotating so sadly,
parched and deserted.
Only piles of gravel have remained
from Himalayas and Tatras...
Where are those worlds of our times,
where are those cursed epochs,
where are the thousand and million years old empires,
where are the men, their women,
dogs and pubs,
where are the good-natured men and bastards, too,
where is the gold and blood,
which was spilled for it,
where is the laughter and all the wines,
which we were drinking,
where are you, my love,
where are our kisses
and our love-making,
where is the occasional sorrow,
it is so empty here,
people embrace and kill each other
in distant galaxies,
anyway, the Sun has been
a red giant long time ago,
they had to escape
from here.


Radovan Brenkus

Poetry of Hudák is about seeing the crazy music, about restless, torturing nights, desperate night phone calls with an unknown voice, about searching for water in times of greatest thirst as well as about boozing, so that nothingness as a first-hand experience could get a man out of lethargy, so that it would be somehow possible to experience the happiness. Poet as an observer turns everything upside down, and even if he paralyzes the readerʼs expectations, he leads him to catharsis just like Kahloʼs paintings, in which the modifications of particularly pessimistic backgrounds show the innocence of likeliness, inability of having a sovereign control of own inside – and in this way the poetry par excellence is created.

Copyright © 2017 Pavol Hudák. All Rights Reserved.
Created by Pectus.